


All That You Know Is All That You Are

by Highsmith (quimtessence)



Series: Idiot Human vs. Idiot Android [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Companionable Snark, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:00:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24186292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quimtessence/pseuds/Highsmith
Summary: Gavin's stressed, RK is offering, so who is he to say no? Plus, Gavin's fucking fantastic at not making things weird. (They get maybe a little weird.)RK's built to be frustratingly attractive for no good reason, and Gavin's apparently totally the sort of dude who would put his dick in a consenting android now, so he might as well stop with the bullshit before RK changes his mind.
Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Series: Idiot Human vs. Idiot Android [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1751830
Comments: 16
Kudos: 133





	All That You Know Is All That You Are

**Author's Note:**

> No doubt the least stressed I've been about any Reed900 fic I've written/posted until now, ironically enough. I feel like I'm gaining a better grasp on Gavin's character outside of _Detroit Evolution_ , heh.
> 
> Title from "Stay" by Post Malone, 'cause you know Gavin would've been all up in that shit way back when. ;)

It happens like this: They've been partners for six weeks, and neither has tried to willfully murder the other, which is a fucking win in Gavin's book, thank you very much. It's also the reason why they're at Gavin's place on a Saturday night, case files everywhere, the digital display on his living room clock showing it's a little after eleven PM. He opted for coffee hours ago, but he refuses to pore over the same reports for the thousandth time in a row without a beer in him before midnight at the very least.

He could be a facetious ass-hat about it, and ask if he could get him anything, but he doesn't stock thirium, hasn't occurred to him that he should, so he only mumbles an off-hand _getting a beer_ before he rises from his seat. Wipes at his brow, definitely in need of a break, but stubbornly refusing to prolong the evening, to get too chummy. Has to wonder if they shouldn't leave it for Monday after all, although he can feel it in his bones that they're close to figuring this one out.

Beer in hand, he pops the top and takes a big swing. Contemplates his bland spice rack with weary and exhausted eyes, mostly ignoring an incipient migraine. He almost jumps when a room temperature hand turns him around.

RK—because the fucker needs a name, and calling a supposedly free android _person_ by a serial or model number isn't kosher anymore apparently—pushes at his chest until the small of his back hits the edge of his kitchen counter. His palm doesn't leave, resting heavily against his shoulder. Gavin didn't even hear him move from the couch.

"What," Gavin gasps, but there's something decidedly _not_ machine-like about the way RK is looking at him—too much eye contact, one eyebrow cocked, a question there Gavin almost feels compelled to nod to even as he admits to himself this is bonkers. All in his head.

Doesn't stay there for very fucking long, though. Because RK doesn't skip a beat. Probably doesn't know _how_.

"Your stress levels have been consistent for the past eighty-six minutes. However, they are twenty-four percent higher than your baseline average during working hours." Which, yeah, whatever, Gavin's not a chill dude, and his head is throbbing. So sue him. "Sexual activity is a well-known de-stressor," RK adds without the slightest change in expression or timbre. But the long pause after he drops _that_ particular conversational bomb is beyond expectant.

"What the fuck," Gavin tries again. He meant to put a question mark at the end of that, he's pretty sure, but his brain is blue-screening too much to properly coordinate with his mouth. He sets his beer bottle on the counter out of self-defense.

Responding with a half-sarcastic, "I am offering to assist with your stress levels, Detective," doesn't fucking clear anything up.

"Like hell," but RK suddenly appears the most determined he's ever seen him during these past six weeks. His eyes have dropped to Gavin's mouth, who can't help biting at his lips self-consciously when the look lingers beyond casual.

He doesn't mean to encourage this, but, like, Gavin's _curious_ now. "For real?" he finally asks once RK's back to aggressive eye contact.

He receives a brief, stilted nod for his troubles, not unlike any other occasion where Gavin's pushed for a yes or no, just the usual levels of android social awkwardness, before RK's other hand reaches for him, too. It's all vaguely surreal, and Gavin's starting to believe it might all be his tired brain hallucinating weird shit to self-sabotage him into passing out for eight hours, or whatever he can get, but, uh. Listen, RK's built to be frustratingly attractive for no good reason, and Gavin's apparently totally the sort of dude who would put his dick in a consenting android now, so he might as well stop with the bullshit before RK changes his mind. He nods in quiet assent; he's at his worst when words are involved.

He works Gavin's belt and zipper open one-handed even as he continues to hold his shoulder and stare at him in a decidedly creepy way. Instead of being freaked out, Gavin's dick has other ideas. He clenches his hands into fists by his sides and stares right the fuck back even as he chubs up embarrassingly quickly given how RK has barely touched him.

This is ludicrous. He almost wants to take it back. He shouldn't be letting it happen. It's not the alcohol keeping him going since he hasn't had a chance to really get to it. It might be the exhaustion. But, in the end, Gavin's track record where poor life choices are concerned probably weighs the most where this particular decision is concerned.

Once he's got Gavin's jeans and underwear dragged low enough to allow his cock to spring free, he starts to work his hand over him. He has no real clue if the movements stem from actual experience or a preexisting programme, but RK knows how to squeeze just right, how to drag the wetness at the tip down, how to swirl his palm just below the head like Gavin likes it. It's too dry, but that just makes it that little bit more exciting, at least for now. It barely takes any time at all before Gavin's reaching back to squeeze at the edges of the counter as he lets out a tightly-muffled moan which comes out as more of a whine, toes curling against his kitchen floor tiles, hips rocking forward into RK's rhythm.

It's about then that it gets to be too much in a non-fun way. He might be leaking steadily, gets generously wet and sticky with pre in general, but he needs a little more if he wants to keep going.

"Too dry," he grunts out.

Believing RK's going to draw himself away in search of slick, he's ready for a breather, maybe get a handle on himself finally. But RK doesn't, because he exists to make Gavin's own existence difficult. Instead, the palm which has been inadvertently steadying him moves from his shoulder to RK's mouth, who then proceeds to spit generously into it. Gavin doesn't topple over, but it's a close call, especially when RK uses that hand to jack Gavin the rest of the way while the other drags down to fondle his balls, pinching and raking mercilessly, and generally making any protest Gavin might have had on the tip of his tongue die a certain and uneventful death.

He doesn't last long after that. RK stares him in the eyes the entire time, wordlessly working him over too damn well for his own good, never mind that Gavin's last remaining brain cells are divided between keeping his hips from fucking desperately into his hands in the most embarrassing of ways and pathetically counting his eyelashes. He makes a mess of RK's hand, but there's a handy dish towel which takes care of that neatly. Thankfully, he refrains from any loud and mortifying noises, but he finds that the muscles throughout his entire body keep twitching with aftershocks even after RK finally pulls his hands away.

Stilling for a long moment to catch his breath, Gavin wonders how to return the favour, whether RK is even built for that sort of thing. He stares at him, at the too-natural (too-human) pink tinge at the bridge of RK's nose and his too-large pupils, stares for a very long time before reaching over to work his belt open. Two swift hands stop him in his tracks before he gets the chance to do more than touch the smooth leather. RK never looks away from him, though, which makes it even worse. His LED has remained a pale yellow since he entered Gavin's kitchen, he now realises, which is maybe the actual worst.

"This won't be necessary, Detective." His tone is perfectly normal. No reason it shouldn't be. Gavin is disappointed despite himself, the content warmth from previous exertions turning a soured flush he doesn't know how to hide.

Won't make it weird if he can help it, though. Not his first rodeo, after all. Shouldn't even give a shit that he can't do something for RK. Probably nothing to do anyway given that he was designed strictly to assist in human law enforcement and investigation. However, Gavin won't sneak a more careful peek at his crotch to check for a hard-on, no way.

"Hate I have to look up at you, Tin Can," he grunts out instead, surprising even himself. He meant to snark back something less honest, break the persistent tension, but coming his brains out has evidently made him even stupider than usual. Shouldn't have been _that good_ for a handjob is what's getting to him.

Like the little shit he is, RK mutters, "I know." That both zings down his spine like static and pisses him off for no reason.

Lashing out won't get them anywhere. Too late for that anyway, in more ways than one. So Gavin shrugs as casually as he can and reaches for his clothes, dragging both jeans and underwear up to zip up as quickly as possible without catching his now soft dick in his haste. He's too fucking old for sex injuries.

He grabs his beer off the counter before walking off past RK, who only takes another couple of seconds of pointlessly standing there before joining him back on the couch.

It's whatever. No skin off his nose.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, maybe a sequel/series?! IDK.
> 
> Kudos/comments more than welcomed, especially as I have no idea what I'm doing in this fandom. <3 <3 <3
> 
> Stay safe, y'all!
> 
> Tumblr: [rhubarbdreams](https://rhubarbdreams.tumblr.com/)


End file.
